Things I knew to be absolutely stable and true fell apart. I didn’t know who I was anymore. And then things got reconstructed. Then fell apart again. Rinse and repeat.

Breakdown-rebuild-breakdown-rebuild-breakdown-rebuild. Like that.

Oh, life, and growing up, sickness of the body and soul and all of that.

But it turned out that all the ways I ended up expanding and deepening as a result of all that hard crap applied not only to my general personhood , but also to my HipGnotist-self.

A point of painful vulnerability that I kept coming back to was “Ohmygod, I am in so much pain. Ohmygod, nothing makes sense anymore. How can I do work as a healer and a teacher when I feel like such a complete mess in body and mind?”

Loss of confidence in my general self as well as hypnotist-self. Imposter syndrome, feeling like I’m going to get ‘found out’ for the fraud that I am. Not remembering why I do what I do. Not being able to access that place where I felt like an immensely capable and passion-filled hypnotist, that place of thirsting for more work and learning.

I felt too broken in body and spirit to facilitate anyone else’s healing.

While I was recovering and largely silent-retreating from the world, I talked about this at length with trusted friends and mentors. And, though I was too busy suffering at the time to notice, I was learning things that would, in retrospect, take my hypnosis work to a whole new level of depth and complexity.

A very kind and wise friend reminded me of the archetype of the wounded healer. That was comforting and illuminating.

Having experienced utter existential confusion and woundedness of the type that I could only have imagined before, my understanding of humanity’s joys and despair did deepen by about a thousand times.

The same friend told me to “lean into the discomfort” when I was busy trying to run away from it, hide it, mask it with something that looked better. I tried. It wasn’t comfortable and it was more honest, and therefore, more efficient.

The experience of being violently humbled by life, in retrospect, made me infinitely more compassionate and open.

Oh yes, that’s it. The recent times broke me open.

(Not that all of this is over, the process concluded. Not at all. It’s definitely ongoing but I’m far enough from the eye of the storm to notice and appreciate what I am learning. I am still in the process but not inside the dead center of the pain.)

In practical terms, through lots of serendipities which were essentially triggered by my breakdown, I had the opportunity to study and train in different topics in hypnotherapy that I was only superficially familiar with before.

I was led to a passionate rediscovery of the genius of Jungian analysis (so much fun to play with in the context of trance states!). And a much deeper study of Ericksonian hypnosis. And slightly more woo-ish stuff that I’m playing with, which I’m frankly fascinated and astonished by.

That brings me to another point: I discovered the hard way the limits of techniques and tools and what to do about it.

Well, let me put it this way; techniques and tools are tricky. Don’t get me wrong — I still stand behind and enthusiastically advocate everything I’ve ever taught. I’ve learned many more than I’ve taught, because I don’t decide to teach something unless I’ve used it myself and found it undeniably effective and fun.

Because they can be tremendously useful. I personally have multiple memories of having my ass saved by EFT and other acupressure modalities as well as simple self-hypnosis techniques that I teach my clients. My clients report the same.

But here’s the thing — when you’re in the middle of a serious breakdown/anxiety attack/panic attack, those can be utterly inaccessible. When you go to a really, really dark place, the mere suggestion of applying a technique is enough to make you want to punch someone, if only you had the strength to, which you don’t because you are that listless and resigned. Most likely, you’ll just passively hate them, and then passively hate yourself for not being able to help yourself.

That’s the worst feeling in the world.

Many of my self-hypnosis techniques involve employing an active imagination (of course, hypnosis is the art and science of the placebo). It is my experiences that severe depression, anxiety, panic, etc often immobilize our imaginative capacities as well as the basic ability to know what you want.

(Things I take for granted when I’m not-in-a-crisis.)

So tools can feel like applying a band-aid when you’re missing a limb. Not helpful at best, maddeningly irritating at worst.

What I’ve arrived at is this: techniques are super helpful, but only when the work of properly architecting one’s consciousness is done.

(All right, roll your eyes a little bit. I’m doing it too. But bear with me!)

Dr. Milton Erickson, the godfather of modern hypnosis, said something to the effect of: “patients are patients because they are out of rapport with their unconscious mind.” The way I understand this statement is that the unconscious mind contains a blueprint for healthy patterns that serve who you want to be. Internal resources of strength and wisdom. When we are far out of touch with it, we lose ourselves (an unfooted crisis!) and suffer.

And when I say ‘architecting consciousness,’ here is what I mean. Let’s assume that there is a structure to the unconscious mind that gives it soundness and stability. Makes sense, right? Even speaking from a purely biological point of view, the brain is wired and neurons are meant to fire in a certain way. There is a system and a strategy to how our minds ought to work in a healthy state.

But when something goes deeply and intensely wrong, it’s most likely a structural problem, rather than a surface one. Think of an alcoholic who’s been one for many years. Think of someone going through a period of catatonic depression lasting for months. Think of someone staying in a physically abusive relationship despite multiple efforts by others to get her to leave. Industrial-strength phobias and panic disorders.

Out of rapport with the unconscious mind. And stuck in that pattern, feeling despondent and helpless.

These are more dramatic examples, but there are plenty of less dramatic cases in which it helps to address the structural problems first, then apply the techniques.

This is why I feel so strongly and evangelically about hypnosis. Dropping into the unconscious mind and doing internal work at that level is so difficult to achieve, if not downright impossible, with regular talk therapy. Psychiatric meds do something else altogether. Modalities that work with the body and its energy system can do wonders but it does not directly engage our minds.

This is what a trance is for. This is what hypnosis is for. You drop straight through the logic, objections, analysis, hesitations and habitual story-telling of the conscious mind, discovering that there was something wrong with the architecture of the unconscious. Something happened, and stuff got disorganized, out of sync, at a deep level. You might be able to remember when. And why.

And when you look at the problem, when you get to that deep level, always contains the blueprint of its own solution. Your unconscious mind always knows what to do to heal itself. And, guided by a skilled hypnotist, you can do the work, right then and there.

Of course, I already knew that. But having been in the patient’s chair multiple times in the recent past, I learned the same lesson at a much more visceral level this time. And it’s changing my approach to client work.

Subtly, but noticeably. To me.

I’m going deeper and I’m taking my clients with me. (If they want it and need it, of course. Everybody and each case is different.)

If you’d like to take a look under the hood, we should play. I mean, seriously.

Destruction. Death (physical, emotional or schpiritual). Drastic change.

I’m drawing from first-hand experience with the most intense type of falling the heck apart, reading up a lot on other people’s experiences of hitting rock bottom or going through severe crises. Thinking about parables, myths and symbols associated with breakdowns.

I’ve learned that there are incredibly useful and precious things that come out of a period of falling apart.

None of this is to say anything to the effect of, “hey, it’s useful so suck it up,” or “it’s all for the best,” or any sort of forced cheering up. Because I vehemently believe against them and making you feel better is not the aim here — though if it happens, it would be a nice incidental side effect.

This is just me adhering to my compulsion to share what I’ve learned. So here it is, my humble un-treatise on the Nature of Falling Apart.

Breakdowns reveal the core of what wasn’t working.

You know when everything is basically good? When people ask how you are and you can genuinely answer, “not bad”?

Or maybe you’re in a more neutral state of not actively being in a crisis but not doing phenomenally well either.

Well, in those states, what’s not working — by which I mean aspects of you that are incongruent, in pain, not serving your own wholeness — are easily camouflaged. Which is okay, but the work that is necessary to mend or heal  gets delayed. The necessity for them feels less dire so it’s easy to ignore.

Once everything is shattered, you are suddenly in full view of the [thing that wasn't right] in all of its [not-right-ness]. This ‘gift of sight’, so to speak, can come with a side of intense pain. It takes a tremendous amount of support – internal and external – as well as drawing on deep courage (that you might not even have known you had!) to take the requisite steps to heal. But healing most often doesn’t happen until someone goes, “Ow, ow, ow! Is that a freaking shard of glass stuck in my foot? How on earth did I not notice it until now?”

Preventive care? Nice in theory, hard to do in practice and prevention is never a guarantee. Especially when it comes to emotional/schpiritual matters.

Once you see, you can learn.

How you perceive the [breakdown] now is almost certainly a false narrative. 

This is my favorite learning.

Breakdowns hurt because of the stories we attach to them. “This is happening because I am [bad/stupid/irresponsible/flawed/etc].” “Things will never be okay again.” “I could never [          ] again.” “Everybody hates me.” “I am not worthy of [        ].” “Life is a b*tch and you die. What is the freaking point?” ”Ohmygoodness, everything is such a stupendous mess and pain pain pain pain pain.”

Narratives. Stories. Projections.

Reading cause and effect into simple facts. Leaving the present and prancing around wildly, unproductively and painfully in the unchangeable past or the unknowable future.

Here, I must say something; whenever I talk about stories and narratives, I don’t mean it in the sense of “hey, you should be able to talk yourself out of believing them because they’re not true and you know it!”

Because cognitive knowledge often accomplishes exactly nothing in terms of destuckifying. Because when I am in the middle of believing a story because I am in pain, having someone say something like that is unconvincing, not compassionate, and often only makes things worse (“wow, I realize at some level that this is a false story but I still can’t get clear — ohmygod what is wrong with me!!!??”

But if it is of any solace, I invite you to look back at your past breakdowns.

Do you remember what caused them? What stories you were believing when you were in them? What did you think [the thing that happened] meant then? What do you think it means now?

I’m willing to bet that they look a lot different now when you are armed with hindsight than they did then. I’m betting that you’re able to lovingly embrace the painful stories that past-you was attaching to those events while fully and comfortably seeing through their falsehood.

Reality is always kinder than the stories about them.

If you are mid-breakdown right now and you’re in pain, I’m so sorry. Hugs and cushions and pots of tea, if you’d like them. But let this message be a a small, smooth, round stone, dropped into the well of your heart.

The way you’re perceiving current events, the stories and meaning you’re attaching to them, are almost certainly false. There is a much kinder reality that will reveal itself once you get through this. Don’t take it from me, take it from present-you, which has more whole-hearted insights into the pains of past-you.

You don’t have to be convinced now. Or ever. Just let the stone create the ripples that it will. Let it sit still in the well.

And see what happens.

My graduate training is, partially, in epidemiology — the study of diseases — in which cause and effect is turned into an unbelievably, vexingly complex subject of scientific scrutiny. There are literally volumes written on the subject of what it means for something to be a cause of something else.

One of the first things one learns in an epidemiology class (or a statistics class, for that matter) is that correlation does not equal causation.

Just because a group of people got food poisoning and all of them happened to have eaten at a certain restaurant, it does not mean that the fact of their having eaten at the particular restaurant caused food poisoning. Particularly if there are other people who ate at the same place and didn’t get food poisoning. Particularly if there are people who got the same type of food poisoning at the same time who ate at a different restaurant.

The more you look, the more the story gets complicated.

Or sometimes, it’s not complicated; all you have to do is think twice. Just because the number of college professors in a state is inversely correlated with the number of cows in a state, it does not mean that a dearth of cows causes college professors to concentrate in a state. It might just mean that the number of cows is indicative of the degree of urbanity in a state; the more urban a state, the more likely it is to have academic institutions; the more academic institutions a state has, the more professors it is likely to hire, and so on.

One can present evidence in favor of a certain causal relationship. One can argue in favor of partial causation, mediation and effect modification. But proving direct causality is a complex task.

Now that I’m done nerding out about epidemiology, let’s talk about how this applies to destuckifying. A hypothetical.

“I’m overeating again because I’m stressed out.”

Is it really so? That being stressed out caused overeating?

We can examine the evidence. Do all stressed out people overeat? No. Many do, but not all. So one does not necessarily lead to the other. Do I always respond by overeating when I’m stressed out? No. Sometimes I might choose to cope differently. Maybe sometimes I have chosen to cope differently. Are all people who overeat stressed out? No. Some might be bored. Some might just have been very hungry.

So one can come to a conclusion that, while the causation seems extremely compelling (especially if it’s something that one assumed for a long time), it is not necessarily true. One overeats because one’s hand keeps taking pieces of food into the mouth beyond the point of feeling full.

Because people have choices at every moment and we mistakenly assume that one action is permanently wedded to a cause beyond our control.

I didn’t yell at my mother because she was being passive aggressive and accusatory again. I yelled at my mother because I raised my voice and chose to say hurtful things to her.

I’m not self-loathing because I didn’t get that job I wanted. I’m depressed because, at this moment, I’m choosing to believe certain painful stories about what that means.

I didn’t go running this morning not because I’m lazy and unathletic. “Lazy and unathletic” people make the choice to go running all the time. Even if I were to assume that “lazy and unathletic” is a permanent part of who I am, bearing this condition, I have made choices in the past to go running. And I liked it.

The reason I didn’t go running this morning is that I didn’t put on my running shoes, get out the door and start putting one foot in front of the other.

Simple.

Disentangling huge patterns and habits and tendencies and bringing them back to the micro-moments of choice made at every point.

This process, for the first time, can be a little bit irking. Resistance easily pops up when a familiar story is challenged.

But at the same time,the narrative-free version of causation that acknowledges the freedom of choice we always have may feel tremendously liberating because it releases us from the role of a victim. It makes us wake up to the fact painful patterns aren’t a part of us; nor do they define us; nor are they permanent. They are just information about what is going on at a moment and we have a choice at every moment about what to do with information.

It brings us out of the place of reacting.

It makes us own our decisions and experiences, gently pointing to the fact that the locus of control is, actually, within. It teaches us that, while painful patterns happen, they are not an inextricable part of us.

In other words, it is about sovereignty. Lovingly and responsibly reigning over your internal kingdom.

[Note: This is hard, advanced stuff. I am offering a hand-on-heart sigh and a hug, if you want, to any parts of you who finds this difficult to digest. To any parts of you who are too deep in pain to briskly embrace the empowerment of choice. Because this is an ongoing practice and everything I write here is a reminder and lesson for myself and I would never say that that there is something wrong with you because you can't perfectly destuckify cause-and-effect right at this moment. Offering my words with permission, spaciousness and lots of love.]

What caused your [painful pattern] today? What were your stories about it and what happens when you ask the same questions while sitting on the throne of your internal kingdom?

The gift of patience.

The gift of Extreme Generosity from an unexpected source.

The gift of time.

The gift of your body going “Whoa, whoa, whoa, lady. You need to stay in bed and not move for 48 hours.” So you’re forced to rest, rest, rest, process, process, process.

The gift of hypnosis. Why it didn’t occur to me to seek out hypnosis from one of my talented colleagues to help shift my recent malaise is beyond me. I went in super deep, saw things and felt things and everything has shifted and all I can say is, “ohmygod finally” and “PHEW.”

(Note to future self: if something has saved your ass in the past, it is likely to be able to help save your ass again.)

I am going on a trip! To a place where there are trees and cheese. (Two of my favorite things!)

This time the trip is metaphorical and literal.

To recharge. Refresh. Release. Remember. Re-member.

Gathering all of the members of Simone’s internal tribe!

They’re going to gather by a fire, hold hands and sing some songs.

We’re going  dig for what’s important.

We’re spotting where things are misaligned and bringing congruence.

We’re going to ask some crazy big questions and ready ourselves for crazy big answers to arrive.

(With Shiva Nata!)

The House of HipGnosis is going to get a deep spring clean.

Instead of scrambling to hold up a tent while the wind is blowing mightily, we’re building a sturdy foundation for a real House.

My vision? A world in which every woman, man and child has access to unconscious tools to de-program and re-program one’s mind.

For more fun and silliness! Power! Equanimity! World peace!

This is a big vision! (I don’t like the word ‘vision’ because it sounds so corporate-retreat-y but bear with me for now.)

The House of HipGnosis needs to have the structural soundness to support an entire world’s worth of destuckifying.

Old energies and unsustainable systems will be studied, thanked and gently expelled. (By blowing bubbles!)

We’re bringing in new bricks, new panels, new windows and new paint.

And a whole lotta love to pull it all together.

The House, as well as the Resident HipGnotist (me!) are getting a makeover, which is not really a makeover because it is just remembering what it’s supposed to be.

And when I’m back, I’m going to throw a party.

A party!! And all of you will be invited and it will be awesome.

And these are some short notes from today’s practice. If some of this language doesn’t sound like me, it’s probably because I have Andrey Lappa’s voice ringing in my ear.

Things need to die a beautiful death so that new things can be born.

Destruction as a positive, necessary force.

Habits need to be deconstructed and decomposed in order to nourish new ones.

In our last Secret Greenhouse Retreat, we played with the idea of past experiences — particularly past pains and hurt selves — becoming compost that supports the growth of the new seed.

So change isn’t necessarily ‘scrapping’ an old pattern and writing a new one. Less like tossing something old away and buying a new one to simply replace it. More like taking an old thing apart and adding new dimensions to the components to build something more complex, higher-form, and congruent with an evolutionary path.

What would it be like to meaningfully engage with the thing-to-be-destroyed?

To set ourselves up for rebuilding.

Not hating on our patterns, but gently inquiring about their purpose and essence.

Noticing that every habit and “automatism,” as Andrey Lappa says, has a hidden positive subconscious intention and honoring the goodness of that.

Recognizing a problematic pattern not as something that is wrong and needs to be fixed but rather as something to be built upon: a starting point, baseline information, compost.

X isn’t ‘bad’ — it is just what precedes Y to yield information about what Y could be like.

Hmm!

Studying these concepts right now is saving my life in more ways than I could count as I am processing, um, lots of life transitions. Being able to effectively deconstruct and reconstruct habitual patterns is perhaps the most important skill one can ever work on.

In this workshop on April 29th in NYC, we will use our bodies to apply these concepts so that you can solve practical problems and gain insights about useful things at astonishing speeds. I am also going to start sharing them in the upcoming Shiva Nata classes, the next of which is on this coming Sunday.

Registration of limited, la la la.

If you can’t play with me in person, play in the comment spaces! With love and strong force fields.

What sexuality and gender have to do with destuckification. (And the minute I say this, you know the answer is going to be ‘oh, quite a lot…‘) And I never thought about this much until recently!

There are writers and teachers who write almost exclusively about these things. And then there are writers and teachers who write about de-stuckifying and cultivating a more conscious, present and compassionate inner life.

It occurs to me recently that the two – the realms of sexuality and the realm of working on your inner self – may be inseparable. There is tremendous potential for exploration and I would like to be there.

I feel as though I am treading somewhat in foreign waters. My thoughts are still very much in formation about all of this. So this is somewhat of a stream-of-consciousness, rough draft. Bear with me.

What the heck does internal work have to do with sex? (And by sex I mean, not coitus nor genitals exclusively but also whole cultures and constructs around the idea of sex and sexuality.)

Crude Point Number One. Women. We have hormones and such.

My brilliant life coach friend Lauren and I joked one time about how, before every single coaching and hypnosis call, we should just ask our clients (ones that have vaginas, anyway) when their last period was.

Because it is important!

So let’s say I’m having a complete meltdown and drinking 7 cans of diet coke throughout the day. It might have something — just a teensy weensy bit — to do with the fact that this is the first day of my period.

My eating, movement and energy depends wildly on what part of the monthly cycle I am in. This isn’t calling up old misogynistic bullshit; it would be ludicrous to pretend that our biological processes don’t affect our schpiritual well being, or that there is no need to tune into where our biologies are for clues. (Not that it looks the same for everyone. At all.)

Do I even need to say anything more about this?

(By the way, I am necessarily woman-centric because I am a woman and went to a proud Seven Sisters College and rah rah rah I’m a feminist, damnit!)

Crude Point Number Two. The vast majority of world traditions and schools of thought that have evolved that concern themselves with mental/physical/schpiritual well-being were formed and developed by men.

Things-that-are-developed-by-men tend to be heavy on linear thinking, logic and reliance on words (as opposed to intuitive understanding, the visual and the sensual and the formless and circular). Depending on whom you ask, you could really go to town with this one (the male wants things to be phallus-y! the male is driven by his oedipal impulses! et cetera.)

This is potentially very complex and fun to explore!

Major world religions. Schools of meditation and philosophy. Even something like yoga, of which a great many number of teachers are female but all the super famous gurus are male.

So what’s invisible to us, given the preponderance of penises in these realms?

(Not saying any of these in a blame-y or angsty way. Just curious and intrigued!)

My friend Matt lent me this book called The Alphabet Versus the Goddess: The Conflict Between Word and Image. (From the back cover: “Shlain shows why agricultural preliterate cultures were principally informed by holistic, right-brain modes that venerated the Goddess and feminine values and images. Writing, particularly alphabets, drove cultures toward linear left-brain thinking…”)

Not to say that none of these radical ideas gives me at least a little bit of pause, but every time I revisit this book, I think about what our current systems of destuckifying are lacking.

Or, maybe that’s not the correct expression; how would processes of healing and internal work look different if it were imagined freely and voluptuously by women, unbounded to traditional patriarchal concepts?

Crude Point Number Three, related to above.

I think diametric concepts such as “right vs. wrong” and “good vs. bad” are so central to why we keep tripping ourselves up.

It’s why we get stuck. Anxious. Depressed. Self-hating.

Some would say that these are male-derived constructs. And that the feminine principle (words said with full awareness of how ill-defined and potentially contentious they may be) is so much more spacious in its shades of gray and multi-layered-ness and sublime formlessness.

Away from definitions and toward exploration.

Away from knowing and toward feeling.

Away from judging and toward noticing.

Away from sentences and toward wordlessness.

Away from labor and toward play.

Away from linear time and toward being.

You can tell that a lot of what we’re already familiar with may be grounded in what some may consider female principles.

I wonder what it would be like to vividly re-imagine the whole process of internal work based on these ideas.

Just notes.

A rough-rough-rough draft.

What do you think?

My monsters have been yelling at me a lot recently with the following messages:

Unstable is more powerful than stable. Stable gives into unstable. Instability lasts longer than stability. You must constantly strive hard to achieve stability.

So I talked to them.

Me: Hm. Monsters, I can tell that you feel very strongly about this. You are really invested in me believing that stability is fragile and hard wrought.

Monsters: Damn straight! We are not even monsters. You only want to think that we are! We are TRUTH.

Me: Um… interesting. Okay. Can I ask why it’s so important for you that I believe those things about stability?

Monsters: Because! Life! Is like that. And everybody knows. Everybody taught you so. Everyone wise.

Me: Everybody? I don’t know about that, actually.

Monsters: Your MOTHER!

Me: Right. But people and traditions that I respect think the opposite. Byron Katie would say …

Monsters: Byron Katie, Schmyron Schmatie!

Me: Yea, I know you guys aren’t fans. But she would say that “unstable” is an illusion. So would Buddhism, actually.

Monsters: No! Buddhism thinks that everything is unstable so you have to just give up and surrender to the pain and stop wanting stability.

Me: Uh, I’m not sure we share the same views on Buddhism. I believe that Buddhism teaches — well, at least the versions I like — ideas about equanimity. An unshakable core of peace and serenity that we can dip into, in silence and meditation. Doesn’t the Dalai Lama talk about that a lot?

Monsters: Oh, that’s convenient of you to bring up the Dalai Lama.

Me: Well, I’m just saying. Also, Christianity and other Abrahamic religious also teach that ultimately, God is in control. The Creator of the universe put things in a certain order and there are things that try to muck it up but ultimately, God has the upper hand. And God is love and peace.

Monsters: Well…. You’re not even a Christian! So what do you care?

Me: I’m just saying, because you keep insisting that “everybody” knows that life is fundamentally unstable. I’m saying some of the world’s major religions teach the opposite.

Monsters: Fine.

Me: Fine?

Monsters: We just don’t want you to be sad.

Me: Oh.

Monsters: If we keep scaring you into thinking that Things Are Unstable, you’ll be better protected against the elements! You’ll go out and buy armor! Stock up on unperishable goods, metaphorically speaking!

Me: So you think hoarding and buying metaphoric armor is the best way to protect myself against the elements?

Monsters: Protection! Protection! Protection!

Me: Well, the thing is, when you guys try to convince me that Life Is Unstable and Stability Is Hard, I end up withdrawing. I get sad, even though you just said your goal is to keep me from being sad. It makes me want to give up. I don’t even have the energy to get armor or cans of beans.

Monsters: Oh…

Me: Plus, I hate canned food! Except canned Italian tuna in olive oil. I’d rather eat real food!

Monsters: Why didn’t you say so?

Me: Well, I’m saying so now. Also, it’s not just me being sad — my Mission is to help people find grounding and peace wherever they are, whatever elements end up showing up their way. So your message – that stability is hard and fragile – is, like, in direct contrast to the central thing that I try to convey to my people in my life and business. Do you understand why it is a problem for me when you guys keep showing up to frighten me?

Monsters: But…. we just want to protect you.

Me: I know, guys. And I really appreciate it. You’ve been at really hard work. Can I give you a hug?

Monsters: That’d be weird.

Me: Okay. Well, I don’t have to hug you. But can we figure out a way to make me feel safe and protected “against the elements” without the Stability Is Hard story? Because it accomplishes the opposite.

Monsters: Oh look! Cookies! We want cookies!

Me: Where did those cookies come from? …. Dr. Grandma?

[Dr. Grandma shows up at the door, with a plate of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies.]

Dr. Grandma: Hi, sweetie! I thought you might need me.

[Monsters scurry to the door, grab the plate of cookies from Dr. Grandma's hands and occupy themselves outside.]

Me: Did you hear our conversation?

Dr. Grandma: No, I didn’t, but I already know everything. So. You want to know that Things are Stable. You want to be rooted in the Stability is Easy and Normal.

Me: Yes! You do know everything.

Dr. Grandma: It’s why I’m here, darling! So tell me. What is useful about feeling stable?

Me: Um, wow, everything. When I feel stable, I can see things. I am clear. I know how to take the next step and I feel secure enough to actually take it.

Dr. Grandma: Clarity. Vision. Action. Useful things.

Me: Yes. Or, even when I am not “taking action”, the pause becomes useful, restful and illuminating rather than guilt-ridden and obfuscating.

Dr. Grandma: Are there ever times when instability is useful?

Me: Hmmmmm. Interesting. I’ve never thought about that. Let me see. Instability might be useful when it’s the good kind.

Dr. Grandma: The good kind? What does that mean?

Me: Like, creative tension. When there are openings. Possibility. When things aren’t fixed but they’re moving. Movement!

Dr. Grandma: Interesting. So perhaps instability is just a distortion of the idea of movement and openings?

Me: That’s what I was thinking! That’s beautiful!

Dr. Grandma: That’s because you’re a smart cookie. And tell me; what is not useful about the notion of instability?

Me: Feeling lost. Uprooted and feetless. Unsafe.

Dr. Grandma: So can we have safety and movement without feeling lost and uprooted?

Me: Oh! You said uprooted! Let’s see… it’s okay that things are uprooted from the ground, as long as it’s contained. Like, in a pot or something. There’s nothing wrong with a plant in a pot. I like plants in pots! They are not on the ground — they are moveable — but they still serve a purpose. They are still sheltered and nourished, while being amenable to being moved around.

Dr. Grandma: Interesting. So how can you have movement and not-planted-on-the-ground-ness but also have safety and nourishment? How do you “pot” things?

Me; Oh, oh! I love that idea! Potting! Maybe I can say that, instead of things being unstable, things are in pots. I am potting certain things in life right now. Plastic pots, ceramic pots, glass pots. I don’t even know if glass pots exist, but I like the idea. Sturdy pots that hold enough soil for the plant’s roots but also have openings where water can drain out. Pots that can be moved and re-arranged but the plants inside are still taken care of and firmly rooted.

Dr. Grandma: A container. How can you make sure things are potted instead of just unrooted? Or, how can you notice if things are already potted?

Me: Hmmm. I’m going to invoke the superpower of “Assume Things Are Potted.”

Dr. Grandma: And how do you know this?

Me: I love this Socratic method thing you’re doing, Dr. Grandma! I’m full of answers today. Things are always potted. Everything is figure-out-able. I know I’m always protected and secure because believing against that makes me powerless and inert.

Dr. Grandma: Are you sure you still need me around?

Me: You’re always around because you’re a part of me.

Dr. Grandma: Oh, sweetie.

We hugged. She was crying a little. She pulled out a carefully wrapped, extra-large oatmeal raisin cookie just for me out of her purse and handed it over.

Dr. Grandma: I love you so much.

Me: I love you too.

And everything was okay. Everything was potted.

One dude, four wives. Yeah.

If you’re also looking for your next trashy TV fix, I do highly recommend it. It’s surprisingly modest, layered and watchable. The point is, in one of the episodes, the family (all twenty-bazillion of them!) visit the grandparents in a cattle ranch in Wyoming. They have a “working vacation” of herding cows, re-painting the grandparents’ house and generally roughing about in the country.

Salt of the earth, Americana stuff for which I have a completely unexplainable faux-nostalgia.

One of the wives makes a comment to the effect of:

It was very good for me to come here. With all the craziness in our lives, being here reminds me of who I am. Going back to my roots.

Right.

It stung.

Because I know what that means and I know people who have it and I don’t.

I am in an exceptional yet common-in-my-geo-social-demographic state of being “rootless.” I have lived in four different countries, moved to the opposite coast of where I grew up in to go to college and uprooted again to be in New York. I love the city to death and hope never to leave, but this city is not my root despite being my home.

I belong to no church. I grew up in the Roman Catholic tradition, with which I endured an epically painful breakup. I married an agnostic Jewish man.

The city I spent most of my childhood in a distant and foggy memory. I rarely see members of my biological family because they live in a different hemisphere. In my young life, I have changed career paths dramatically several times over. My friends are all over the world.

I have a strong sense of self and schpiritual grounding, but a greater-than-me, geographic/social/religious/familial root? Nope. Nothing that comes even close. How could it be if I’ve had three different first names in my life?

So, Wife #4, I’m so glad you have a strong root to refer back to. That must be a really good thing and I am envious of those who can claim it. 

How nice it must be to be able to refer to something that is so foundational for one’s identity. To be able to re-visit something constant, unchanging, rock-solid and say,

Yup. This is who I am. This defines the core of me. In moments of crisis and shakiness, I can return to this to remember what is important and who I am supposed to be.

(Just a couple of days ago, I was talking about feeling feetless! Similar, but this felt like it was on a more existential scale.)

I spent the next half hour or so being sad about not having it. And kind of forgot about it for the next few days.

Then, this morning, I was listening to my ipod on shuffle and the song that started to play was the Stabat Mater – a hymn to Mary set to music by an Italian baroque composer called Giovanni Battista Pergolesi.

Also known as Simone’s Favorite Music in the Entire World. It has been since I first watched Amadeus at age 15.

If you haven’t heard it before, I strongly recommend it. As it played from my ipod, I was basking in the familiar and always soul-wrenching progression of chords – dissonance, consonance, dissonance, consonance. And a strange feeling stirred inside:

This, this is who I am.

It’s funny because it wasn’t not really about ideas or principles or even historical memories. I am a classical music fanatic and choral nerd it is one of the things that define me, I suppose, but it wasn’t about that per se, either. It was certainly not about the religious significance of those handsome latin words.

It was a certain ineffable quality of the music that reminded me of an unshakable, foundational Simone-ness.

This is something I can listen to in order to return to who I really am, which is rather wordless. No matter where I am or what I am doing, hearing these chords will never fail to make me feel incredibly me. And engaging in this music is my form of visiting the cattle ranch in Wyoming.

Not one bit of conflictedness resides in the space between me and this music. And there is literally nothing else in life that I can say that about.

(If that makes no sense, I am sorry! I don’t know how to describe it better.)

Perhaps it’s particular to baroque music. I just looked up the meaning of ‘baroque’ in Wikipedia and found the following definition:

artistic style that used exaggerated motion and clear, easily interpreted detail to produce drama, tension, exuberance, and grandeur.

That sounds a bit like me! But that’s just an interesting aside.

I started to question why I felt so certain that I was rootless.

And I started to wonder: in what other unlikely places can I discover my roots?

The clues are everywhere. Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater cannot be the only thing that takes me there. So I am on a mission to find them. And I want to invite you to join me because this is interesting and potentially enormously uplifting.

Because I suspect many of my readers might have shared my reflexive response of “who, me? I have no root!”

Gently inquiring into why we default to such certainty about our own presumed rootlessness. And in which unexpected places one can find unlikely reminders of one’s rooting.

Hmm, thoughts!

Present were my elephant Ollie and my duck Alberta (who is usually hidden because I’m embarrassed about its obvious associations with Havi’s Selma but damnit, I love my Alberta!).

More toy animals and more silliness is always a good move. The laughter-per-flail ratio was the highest. At one point, we flailed pretending that we were Rush Limbaugh (you had to be there.)

We were scrambled to the max. Most of the lovely souls who participated had never tried Shiva Nata and were not particularly even into yoga in general, but they were smitten. (You should join us in April!)

Back to my epiphany!

Shivanauts/HipGnotists/Other-Citizens-of-Weirdoville think a lot about patterns. And I realized that I have a funny relationship with them.

Because, you see, normally when we talk about patterns, we talk about them in the context of changing them. Like;

Oh, this pattern is not working for me. I need a new one! How can I get rid of the one I have and create another that works/feels better?

I mean, this is basically all I think about, all the time. It is the backbone of my work as a HipGnotist.

And, contemplating this in a post-Shivanautical, brain-scrambled state, the incredibly obvious-in-retrospect realization that patterns are there for a reason.

We rely on them. We default to them. They contain the weight of our history and clues about where we are now. They make up our current identities, even if it is temporary and seemingly dysfunctional.

In other words, patterns are legitimate. 

They are a part of us. And to resent your pattern or to wish a violent change upon it is like resenting and wishing violence upon yourself.

Bing! 

Whoa.

So. I talked to my patterns. Or rather, I talked to the general pattern-ness of my patterns.

Hey, the pattern-ness of my patterns! I now realize that you are part of me and your existence is very important for reasons I might not fully understand yet. What do you have to teach me?

And they told me that what they need is love and gentleness.

And they put out a few asks.

Instead of “Gahhh, I hate you, why can’t you be different?”, they wished me to be in a state of loving noticing, looking for clues, saying “Hello, pattern! You are here and you are a part of me. Let’s get to know you.”

Instead of “How can I change you?”, they wished me to ask, “What vital purpose are you serving? Why is it important that you are here and that you have been here until now? How can I tune into the essence of your purpose?”

Instead of “Seriously, ugh, why are you still here?,” they wished me to ask, “You are still working so hard to keep me safe and protected, even though I suspect that your methods might not fit me very well anymore! Thank you. How can I give you what you need? I’m not sure I have all the answers, but I’ll do my best.”

Sometimes, patterns do change abruptly. And that’s great.

But if and when they don’t, it’s probably an invitation for you to be curious.

And these new questions are changing how I think about all of my patterns and how I go about my work.

Right now, I’m working on a bunch of patterns that I have had forever.

Like some of my weird remaining eating issues. Or the way I default to feeling lonely and despondent in certain situations and how I act in moments that follow. Avoidance.

When you work on a pattern for a long time, seemingly without progress, resentment and frustration can build up to a giant, vitriol-filled stuckness.

And deciding that I don’t need to hate them anymore was, in itself, a ginormous shift for me. My patterns are still here. They love me. I want to get to know them better.

And even now, as I write this, I feel this release. Like something is letting go of its grip. I like this feeling. Hmm. I’m going to play some more and report back when I have learned some more interesting things.

I invite you to play with them, too!

Had you inadvertently been violent with your patterns (“you! change! damnit!”)?

What can you do to invite more gentleness, ease and permission-filled love into your relationship with your patterns?

Seriously, guys. Shiva Nata in NYC. It is good stuff. Each one is more HipGnotic than the one before. Each one is sillier than before. There are two classes open in April. You should join us!

Also, our get-together in the secret greenhouse to plant some magical seeds is this Saturday. There is ONE SPOT left for a fellow planter. Join us (password: plantseeds)!

And otherwise, Ollie’s warm wishes and a full heart to you! May your day be filled with loving noticing.

Uh, let me step back and rephrase.

Recently, I’ve been having a hard time doing things that usually come incredibly natural to me. Like… writing. Hanging out online. Working on my tiny sweet things. Communicating with people.

Writing, especially. Writing is how I process and learn and access insights. It is how I reach people. I love writing. For the longest time, my biggest biz-related insecurity was that I wrote too damn much.

But it was such work for me to come back to the place of being able to write and looking forward to writing. (I am easing back!)

In retrospect, I think what happened was that my feet were not on the ground. 

I can usually be seen over at Havi’s on Sundays, writing Very Personal Ads, which is an exercise in asking for what we want. VPAs are never simple because asking can so easily be fraught with conflicted feelings but usually I engage in it with curiosity and play. For the past few weeks, I haven’t been able to go near it.

The idea of asking for what I want drew nothing but “@#%($%*#)$(%@#$” from my head.

My feet were not on the ground.

It is a curious and unpleasant feeling of not being connected to myself or anything that could anchor me. Frequent side effects include shame, guilt, unmoored inertia. Floating, but not in a fun, light, weightless way.

Yes, it was necessary and I was being moved through time. I was processing and I am not saying this to beat myself up or to express regret about anything. Everything that I experienced was legitimate and exactly what needed to happen. I meet it all with understanding and love. There are plenty of safe rooms in my heart for all the pain.

But while it was happening, it wasn’t fun. Reflection, play, curiosity, writing, exploring — these are my favorite things in the world to do. I do them for a living. I dislike when I am unable to do them.

And I am ready to be moved, again.

Now that I have gained some insight into the condition of feetlessness, I want to practice putting them on the ground again. I want to see what it feels like to imagine roots growing, extending underneath.

I want to say hello to myself as I haven’t in a long time. 

I have been swept off my feet. It is time to put them down again, noticing what is different and what is the same.

Invoking the superpowers of:

grounding. safety. anchoring. stability. ease. entry. recognition. love. transience and permanence. rooting. comfort. deep knowing.

Hello.

This is me.

This is me-now.

This is Simone on March 13th, 2012.

This is Simone in her room in Brooklyn, New York.

This is Simone after a late lunch of nachos, guacamole and a can of diet coke.

This is Simone listening to the not-unpleasant music emanating from upstairs neighbors and the barking of their dog.

This is Simone writing a post for her blog and connecting with her people. This is Simone accessing flow, curiosity, wisdom, love and power.

This is Simone craving a cigarette and making space for that craving, giving it permission to exist. This is Simone sending all of her deprived-feeling, sad, lonely, scared selves to safe rooms.

This is Simone reaching for forgiveness and spaciousness.

This is Simone feeling back at home, noticing the familiar comfort of the WordPress layout and the soft weight of a fleece blanket on her lap. And the soft click-click-click of the keyboard.

This is Simone taking up space. The space in this room. The space in this neighborhood. The online space on this website, her Facebook page, her twitter page, and all the other places that belong to friends, colleagues and teachers where she shows up and takes up space, if only temporarily.

This is Simone housing space. The space in her stomach. The space between her ears, between her toes, between her legs and between her eyelashes. Space for air in her lungs. In and out.

The space between the ground and the sky.

And here is me, in it.

This is me wanting sweetness.

This is me allowing the want.

This is me inhaling.

And this is me exhaling.

Hello, me.

My feet are on the ground.